


Spiral Fracture

by runrarebit



Series: Misfits Moments [9]
Category: Misfits (TV 2009)
Genre: Actually also a mention of a parent doing quite a lot to protect their kid, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Castration, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Dark fic, Dark!Simon, Dead Jesus, Depression, I guess with a happy ending, M/M, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Past Rape/Non-con, Simon does not always boyfriend appropriately in this fic, Trauma, a bit of murder in the background, internalised victim blaming, parents not always doing the best job of protecting their kids, so much internalised victim blaming, vengeance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 08:10:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18616627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runrarebit/pseuds/runrarebit
Summary: Well, this may be one of the most depressing things I've ever written.So, here we have the Christmas Special in my AU, except apparently my brain decided to fixate on that comment Nathan made about the priests when they were facing off against Jesus (and some other comments along the way) and so we now have this. Honestly I was debating not posting it, but, I don't know, it's the kind of fic I'd read myself if I wanted to make myself have feelings about things.Check theTRIGGER WARNINGand stay safe.





	Spiral Fracture

**Author's Note:**

> _**TRIGGER WARNING**_ for frank and somewhat vivid discussions of childhood sexual abuse and rape culture. None of this is sexy and should not be sexy. This is not a smutty fic my dears.
> 
> Thank you all for reading this series, and for the comments and the kudos! Seriously though, if this one is going to upset you then please don't read it. Stay safe.

He runs into Alisha just after she’s done it— him having gone out for some more cigarettes— and ends up staring in amazement at her hand on his wrist. That could have been dead embarrassing if selling her power hadn’t worked. He’s got no idea what he would have said, probably something about her fingering him, to be honest, as she hasn’t got a cock. This whole gay relationship thing has done peculiar things to his sexuality.

He mentions the thing with Alisha to Simon when he gets back to the Community Centre and their sad little nest with its shitty little mattress. 

‘No, no, Nathan, you can’t do that,’ Simon says, clinging on to him with those warm, strong hands, ‘You can’t sell your power, you have to promise me!’

‘Why not?’ he asks, a little curious about what’s gotten his boyfriend so wound up. ‘We could get a flat. We wouldn’t have to spend so much time at the Community Centre. I wouldn’t have to be Santa— I know you don’t like me being Santa, I’ve seen you lurking around trying to warn other blokes off. The mums think you’re a paedophile, you know? I keep having to tell people you’re not, you’re just overprotective and you think half the estate has a Santa fetish—’

‘Nathan, I mean it!’ the other man says, shaking him. ‘I will do anything— if you want money I’ll steal it, how about that? I’ll use my power and—’

‘No, no, Barry—’ he shushes the other, trying to pull him in to a hug. This has gotten him really freaked out. He doesn’t get it, but maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up, it was stupid of him. He must have been being insensitive— he knows he’s often insensitive without realising it. ‘I don’t want you to steal stuff for me. I know you hate that kind of thing—’ he nuzzles in, the warmth and smell of Simon’s body starting to work its magic on him. Maybe they could just slip off to the loos— Simon’s always in a better mood after a shag, right?

Simon clings to him, hands pawing at his waist, at his back— it’s alarmingly unsexual. Oh shit. He’s really fucked up, hasn’t he? He just doesn’t understand what he did wrong— ‘If something happens to you and you don’t wake up again I don’t think I could stand it,’ the other man eventually says. ‘If you’re not immortal anymore you could actually _die_ Nathan. I can’t live without you—’

Oh. _Oh._ He comes over all warm and shivery and has to hide his face against Simon’s neck. Well that now makes sense. He hopes the other man doesn’t think he’s too much of an arsehole. ‘I won’t,’ he mumbles out, trying to press closer. ‘I won’t sell it. I don’t care about the money—’ a thought occurs to him, making him shiver, cling closer, ‘Don’t die either Barry. I don’t think I could do it any more than you can.’

Simon pushes him gently away, leaning in and trying to meet his eyes. He knows he’s probably bright pink and a little teary about the face, but he hopes he doesn’t look that bad. ‘ _Promise me,_ ’ his boyfriend stresses. He can feel how badly the other man is shaking. ‘Promise me you’ll never, ever, sell it or give it away or anything.’

‘I promise,’ he says, actually meaning it. He knows how upset Simon gets when he dies— to imagine the other man like that for days, weeks, _months_ just because he was sick of sleeping on a shitty mattress in the Community Centre— God, he’s a twat, isn’t he? ‘I promise. I _promise._ I’m sorry Barry, love, I didn’t mean to be a prick. I just wasn’t thinking.’

The other man spends a long moment examining his face, obviously unsure if he actually means what he said or is just dicking around. Of course he means it, but he also kind of gets why Simon might not be sure. He doesn’t want his boyfriend to doubt him. He wants Simon to trust him. He tries to look honest and trustworthy, but he suspects he’s probably just pulling a stupid expression. ‘I just worry,’ the other man says eventually, and then ‘I love you, ok?’

He’s sure he gets even pinker, squirming a little under the intensity of the other’s gaze, but of course he says it back, ‘I love you too.’ Simon leans in and kisses him, obviously going for chaste, but he can’t have that so— When they finally separate, his lips feeling puffy and tender and his mind going to how much he’d like his arse to feel the same he says, ‘Now, do you want a shag in the loos before we meet Jamie for drinks, or do you want to wait until we get to the bar? Oh! And remind me to tell you about this mad bird I met earlier, her name’s Marnie. I’m thinking if Jamie and whatsherface don’t work out we could set them up. He looks mad paternal, right? I’m sure he’d be fine about the baby.’

So apparently their friends aren’t lucky enough to have smart, sensible boyfriends around to tell them _not_ to sell their powers. He kind of feels out of the loop to be honest, but he did get drunk and fall asleep on the couch in his brother’s shitty hotel room, so he kind of understands Simon creeping off without him to check out what this Seth guy was up to. At least Simon didn’t sell his power. Also, at least Simon came back to pick him up instead of leaving him there all night less than a metre away from the bed where his brother was no doubt shagging Lily, or whatever her name is. That’s too close to incest for his liking. 

Simon’s in a mood about it though, not about him being a metre away from his brother while his brother was having sex— because he’s pretty sure Simon got back before that could happen, and if he hadn’t he’s pretty sure Simon would probably be in an even worse mood— But about them selling their powers. He thinks they’ve been given them for a reason— which, fair enough, if anyone has any idea why this happened, he’d bet Simon does. 

Simon being in this particular mood is not great. Because Simon in this mood apparently means Simon not in a mood for sex, or too much cuddling— more in a mood for brooding— which, fine, but maybe not what he wants to deal with right now with that weird guy hanging around pretending he’s Jesus. Priests creep him out. 

He’d kind of feel better if Simon was all over him, you know, paying him the kind of attention he wants. He might, not saying he is, but he might just be feeling a tiny little bit vulnerable. Just a bit. Like when he wakes up to a whole bunch of gospel and Simon’s not even there to agree that it’s weird and maybe finger his arse a bit in the loos while kissing his neck and calling him pretty. 

He’s actually kind of envious when he gets to the bar and sees all the shit the others are getting with their new-found wealth. He might like to go travelling— with Simon at least. He’d quite like a massive faux-fur coat— and those shoes. Is it super gay that he sometimes likes to dress in women’s clothing? It probably doesn’t matter. He’s pretty gay as it is. Also his arse looks amazing when he wears heels and it makes Simon go stupid and obsessed with eating him out. 

And then the bar is robbed and that terrifyingly cool Nikki that Curtis is cheating on Alisha with, or Alisha is cheating on Curtis with, or maybe there’s two clams and a sea cucumber in that particular bowl of chowder, he doesn’t know, whatever’s going on _she_ gets shot. It’s not fatal, of course, because the bullet goes through him first and gets her in the shoulder, but while they’re all waiting for the ambulance he dies on the floor in his boyfriend’s arms while wearing most of his Santa costume. Talk about embarrassing. Simon is not happy, of course, but he gets it now, he really, really does. Like fuck he’s selling his power. 

Simon’s sweet to him from the moment he comes back to life, helping him around while the fucked-up post-death weakness wears off, holding him while they huddle under the crappy water pressure of the Community Centre’s showers, kissing him sweetly everywhere he wants to be kissed, and then, when they’re both sure he’s not going to shit himself all over the place, fucking him gently once the other gives in to his insistent begging. 

He doesn’t like dying. It doesn’t help that every time he does he’s reminded of Simon’s face the first time, the devastation there. Simon had looked pretty devastated again the night before. 

They’re having a slow morning, a lot of soft kisses, touches, Simon trying to keep him in bed so the other can fuss over him, when Alisha and the others show up, even Nikki, with her shoulder all bandaged up and a positively _homicidal_ look on her face. 

That Jesus freak has Alisha’s power, he tried to use it on her, and not only that he seems connected to the guy that shot Nikki and _killed_ him. 

They run into Marnie just before they run into Jesus forcing some poor girl to give him head in the bathroom. She’s alright, Marnie. He quite likes her— he can imagine another life where he might have ended up with a girl kind of like her, but at the same time he’s glad he didn’t. Imagine a life without Simon, or a life in which Simon was only a mate, or not even a mate— not worth thinking about. Marnie though, he can see him and her being mates. Like proper mates. Not just tolerate him because of whatever bonding bullshit that goes on when you kill probation workers together.

It’s kind of off-putting, watching the girl’s head bob up and down like that. She’s probably got no idea what she’s doing. It actually makes him feel a bit queasy— for a moment he’s faced with the fact that he knows what that’s like, waking up with a sore jaw and a funny taste in your mouth and no memory of how either happened. He huddles a little closer to Simon. He thinks maybe all this religion around the place might be putting him in his own mood. 

It’s not like he’s thinking about it. He’s _not_ not thinking about it, but he’s very deliberately not thinking about it with his conscious mind— so why does he run his mouth like that? The moment the words are out he wishes he could bite them back. Since he got with Simon he’s tried to— he doesn’t even know the right way to put it. Keep down the comments that might suggest some of his experiences with guys weren’t very good? In case it chases his boyfriend off. 

It’s different when you’re just going with girls, or at least different for him. Like, that stuff’s funny, jokey, not serious, and they’re never really going to care, because he’s a guy and shit like that’s funny when it happens to guys, but now he’s with Simon— someone as emotionally sincere as his boyfriend— and somehow now it makes him feel vulnerable and kind of tainted, like a guy like Simon, a smart and good looking and kind and funny guy who is such a fantastic shag, like a guy like that is too good for whatever the fuck tainted mess he is. Wow he’s depressing himself. Moving along.

He hopes like fuck Simon didn’t hear, or if he did was too busy with Jesus to think about what he might have meant.

Anyway, Jesus fucks off. Everyone has a little carry on about who’s a rapist or a murderer. Then everyone without powers decides they need to get them back, so they end up carrying off a locker full of money, Nikki and Marnie trailing behind because _shot_ and _heavily pregnant._ Honestly, since he and Simon weren’t stupid enough to sell their powers in the first place he thinks they should just get a portion of the cash. You know, that way they really can get a flat and a nice bed and not have to worry about people randomly breaking out into Gospel down below while he’s sitting on his boyfriend’s face. Or his cock. 

He’s trying to argue his point when Jesus shows up again, but then a moment later Jesus is dead, so all-in-all a victory. Then Marnie ends up having her baby, but that’s not really his business is it, so he mainly hangs around letting her squeeze the shit out of his hand with his eyes shut while Kelly deals with everything happening down below. Marnie says she’s going to name the baby Nathan, which is really very nice of her and doesn’t at all make him tear up and have to cling to his boyfriend like an overly-emotional twat. 

The less said about the afterbirth the better. 

So, he goes to the hospital with Marnie, because she wants someone with her and he hardly needs to go with the others because, as already stated, not stupid enough to sell his power. _Simon_ though, goes with them, saying it’s because he wants to be there in case _they_ try to do anything stupid. Maybe he’s curious. Maybe he’s up to something. It doesn’t matter, he trusts his boyfriend. 

He’s dozing in the hall when Simon comes to get him, half-listening to Marnie loudly reunite with her mother— who just showed up out if nowhere, accused _him_ of getting her daughter pregnant —even after he’d shouted at her that he’s in a committed relationship with a very nice man thankyouverymuch and has no time to be tarting around with girls, no matter how much fun they are— called Marnie a _slag,_ and then burst into tears and started hugging everyone who was too close. It was a bit much. Even for him. 

‘What do you want for dinner?’ Simon asks as they’re approaching the Community Centre, his boyfriend’s arm around his waist.

‘We could go out,’ he muses, cringing at how domestic it sounds. ‘Use some of the money to go somewhere nice-ish.’ He’s been thinking about the flat they could get. It doesn’t have to be a big one, does it? But maybe one with a big bedroom where they can fit a big bed.

‘What money?’ Simon asks, frowning.

He blinks. Oh they haven’t— ‘Our fucking flat deposit!’

Simon shakes his head, ‘They wouldn’t give me any of the money, there was only enough to buy them each a power and we all decided that was more important.’

‘More important!’ he squeaks, outraged. ‘Those cheap little bastards. I’m pissing in every bottle of beer I get them from now on.’

‘But you don’t get them beer,’ Simon says, frowning at him, before shaking his head. ‘Sorry, I’m tired. Taking things too literally.’

He stops them, peering at his boyfriend’s face. He really does look exhausted. ‘Do you want to go back to yours? I know the mattress here is pretty shit, and you look like you need a good night’s sleep.’

Simon shakes his head. ‘Both my parents are home tonight so I can’t bring you with me.’

‘You could go by yourself—’

‘No!’ Simon snaps, and then, ‘Sorry! Sorry. I’m feeling a bit— off.’

‘I suppose it’s not every day you kill Jesus,’ he says. ‘Come on, I’ll break into the kitchen and make you a nice hot chocolate, and then you can have a good night’s sleep.’

A pause, and then Simon pulls him in for a kiss. ‘You’re really lovely you know,’ the other man says against his lips. ‘I love you a great deal.’

The next morning the guy that shot him and Nikki is found dead, having _fallen_ from one of the towers. So maybe that’s all that was upsetting Simon.

Only— He should have guessed Simon was being weird for a reason other than having just killed Jesus or plotting another murder, but he gets lulled into a false sense of security until a couple of nights later, when they’re all sitting around on the roof of the Community Centre drinking the case of beers he _rescued_ from the kitchen when he was making Simon that hot chocolate. It did take some convincing, but eventually his boyfriend convinced him not to pop half of them open, drink a bit from each, fill them back up with piss, and then re-cap them. Maybe the fact that they don’t have one of those machines you use to cap beer bottles might have helped sway him, but never let it be said that he can’t ignore a reasonable argument. 

It’s dark, the city is looking uncommonly pretty down below them, and Kelly and Nikki have started a bonfire— which seems a bit of a fire hazard to him, and a bit rich, starting fires on the roof of _his_ home while the lot of them are running around with powers paid for with his flat money— but at the same time it’s nice. Romantic. Helps that he’s lying draped over Simon in that leather recliner they like so much, the other man’s arms around his waist, the other man’s breath tickling his ear. He can see Alisha doing the same, lying across both Curtis and Nikki— so that answers that question.

He’s kind of dozing off from the beer and the fire and his boyfriend’s body heat when Simon opens his big mouth, speaks very quietly, and ruins his evening. ‘What you said, in the bathrooms, when he were facing off with Jesus—’ a pause, a mere breath in which he hopes his boyfriend drops it. ‘I know you were never one of the ugly kids.’

‘It was nothing,’ he says, feeling himself tense up. He tries to stop doing that. It’s dead suspicious. 

‘ _Nathan,_ ’ Simon says, leaning in to look at him with those sincere eyes. He can see the light of the fire reflecting off them. 

‘It’s been bothering you, huh?’ he says, pushing away from Simon so he can sit up on the end of the recliner. ‘It was _nothing._ ’

‘Maybe we should go inside to talk about it,’ Simon says, moving as if he’s about to stand. ‘Away from the others.’

Well, shit. This looks serious. He has no idea what Simon’s thinking, what’s going to happen, if the other man is going to dump him— and all of a sudden he doesn’t want it to just be him and Simon. He doesn’t want to be alone if everything’s going to fall apart. ‘No, no, it’s fine. We all know more about each other than we should anyway, what’s the point of secrets? It was nothing though, you have to believe me.’

Simon doesn’t look happy, though he does sit back down properly. ‘Did he—? Did they—? I don’t even know, was it one priest? Two? More? Did they—?’

Is Simon trying to ask if he’d been lying when he said he was an anal virgin? He’s not sure why the thought hurts as much as it does. But it does. It _stings._ He feels the heat of an unhappy blush build on his face. ‘ _You’re_ the one that popped my cherry, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t lie.’

‘I didn’t say you did,’ Simon bleats, a hand rising reflexively to fiddle with his fringe. And now he feels guilty. He doesn’t want to feel guilty. He doesn’t want his boyfriend to be anxious talking to him either. ‘I just wanted to know what happened.’

‘It really was nothing!’ he reiterates, but already he knows he’s not going to be allowed to get away with that. ‘It was _one_ priest. Father Maher. And it wasn’t anything like what you’re thinking. He’d just get me to sit on his lap, right, and then he’d ugh, ugh, ugh’ he mimes thrusting upwards, hands holding a pair of hips— ‘against my arse through our clothes until he came. It was kind of fun at the time, like getting a horsey ride—’

This is kind of, mostly, the truth. He doesn’t entirely remember all that happened with Father Maher. He was quite young to start with, and he hasn’t wanted to think about it much since, but he does know the man never properly fucked him— because he has this very distinct memory of the one time the priest had poked his arsehole through his briefs and said something about having to wait until he was old enough. His tenth birthday, from what he can remember, which Father Maher was going to make a “very special day.” He hadn’t liked the way it’d felt at the time, but he’d wanted to please the Father so badly so he’d pretended he was excited for it. 

‘How old were you?’ Simon asks, all wide eyes and anxiety. 

He shrugs, trying to wave it off, ‘Eight, nine, something like that.’

Truth was it’d started when he was about seven. Started not with that— it wasn’t like it’d gone straight to dry humping and the hand jobs he’s not going to tell Simon about, but Father Maher had started to single him out, started to act like he was special. Paid more attention to him, given him books and toys and sweets, taken him out on trips, told his mother (unhappy, anxious, watching her marriage come down around her ears again, because this had been during his parents’ one and only attempt at reconciliation)that he was a very special boy with a lot of promise and a natural interest in the Church, blah, blah, blah, all bullshit of course, but he’d eaten it right up. His mum had been harried and unhappy and working two jobs, his dad had already had one foot out the door, of fucking course he’d wanted to feel special, and of fucking course that had been obvious to anyone with a pair of functioning eyes. And he had been special, Father Maher’s _special little boy_ , until bloody Michael Byrd moved to town, bloody Michael the polar opposite to him, all blonde and blue eyed and cherubim sweetness, and then Michael was Father Maher’s _special little boy_ and he responded by throwing bricks through all the church’s nice, stained glass windows. 

They’d left not long after that, still a few months from his tenth birthday, cherry still intact thankyouverymuch. Of course one of the reasons they’d left was that he’d suddenly become the sort of boy that threw bricks at churches, and that was just the last fucking straw for his parent’s marriage, but what could he do?

He can still remember that feeling of jealousy, even though it makes him sick all these years later.

‘Oh, Nathan,’ Simon says, sounding so troubled. 

‘See, it was nothing,’ he says, and then his own fucking mouth betrays him, ‘It was just a bit of dry humping, it wasn’t even like with Richard—’ he bites the rest of that sentence off. _What the fuck, self? What the fuck?_

Simon’s eyes narrow, ‘ _Richard?_ ’

‘I was twelve,’ he tries, in case that helps any. It doesn’t seem to from the way Simon’s looking at him, so he sighs and says, ‘He was my mum’s boyfriend.’ He hates how stupid even thinking about it makes him feel. Stupid and bad and guilty and angry and kind of like setting something on fire. Why is this happening to him? Couldn’t he just sit around the hazardous bonfire on his shitty roof and have a reasonable time with his boyfriend and their collective of arsehole mates. ‘And before you ask, he didn’t get my cherry either.’

Simon leans in close, gently taking his hand and says ‘What happened? Please, Nathan, you can talk to me.’

He looks down at his own long, skinny fingers lying draped over Simon’s shorter, stronger ones and has a moment, just a moment, in which he feels entirely helpless. What is he supposed to do now? There’s no way Simon will ever let this go— and if he does talk about it. Simon’s got to laugh, or something, right? Or hate him. Blame him. Not believe him. That’s the worst part, that one. He doesn’t fucking know—

‘He really didn’t,’ he repeats. ‘He was a premature ejaculator. He’d get my clothes off and get me on the bed and by then he was so excited he’d just—’ he mimes a guy spunking everywhere, ‘—all over me. It was disgusting—’ he reconsiders this last statement. He doesn’t want Simon to think— ‘It isn’t when you do it. I _like_ it when you do it, you have to believe me, but with him— it was like being in the fallout zone of a slime volcano.’ 

‘We have to tell someone,’ Simon says, sounding urgent. ‘He can’t— neither of them can get away with it. They need to be _punished._ ’

He feels odd. Like he’s floating out of his body. ‘What’s the point?’ he says, ‘No one will believe me anyway, I’m hardly society’s idea of an innocent victim, am I? And Father Maher’s got the weight of the church behind him, they’ve probably moved him on by now, two or three times— or more. Shifted him from place to place to hide what he is—’

Simon shakes his head, his expression intense. ‘What about your mother’s boyfriend? I still don’t believe it’s helpless going after the priest, but we could start with—’

‘I already told everyone!’ he snaps, pulling his hand away from Simon’s and wrapping both arms around his waist. ‘I told my dad when it started, and he didn’t believe me, said Richard was a nice guy and I should stop trying to start trouble for my mother—’ the words come out hot and furious, the real reason he hates the man so much, the reason he never lets himself acknowledge swallowing him up, roiling like the fires of hell in his mind, ‘— so I went and told my mum, and she didn’t believe me either— she asked _him_ about it, and of course he denied it, and then, since he knew I’d told, he got me alone and told me that if I didn’t tell everyone that I was lying he’d get a knife and cut my mum’s face off. My _mum’s_ face.’

‘So you told them you were lying,’ Simon says, voice strange. He can’t even begin to guess what that tone means. Probably nothing good for him. 

‘Of course I did. She’s my _mum!_ ’ he snaps, as if there would ever be any question. 

‘Is he still around?’ Simon asks through gritted teeth.

He shrugs. ‘Nah, he fucked off not long after that. I suppose I wasn’t much fun if I was going to _tell_ people, and he’d have to be pretty fucking mental to want to stay with a woman whose son has already told her he’s sexually abusing him once.’

Simon doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and the next time someone speaks it’s Alisha, and he looks over to see the rest of them all sitting and staring, eyes big, faces looking very, very unhappy. ‘Did you tell her you weren’t lying when he left?’

He shakes his head, feeling small and ugly and stupid. ‘She wouldn’t have believed me, and anyway I would have looked like a right twat.’ Every time one of his parents brings it up he still panics, still gets that feeling like Richard’s going to jump out with that knife, and all that crappy way what happened makes him feel rises up and starts strangling him. So he almost always overcorrects, reminds them that he was lying every time, even when he doesn’t have to. 

‘Richard,’ Simon says, out of nowhere. ‘That was his name? Do you remember his surname?’

He shakes his head. No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to. He tries not to think about the bastard. He’d tried it on too, the presents and the praise, but he’d learnt his lesson with Father Maher and didn’t bite, so that hadn’t lasted long, and all too soon it had been painful slaps and insults, being grabbed at and dragged around. 

‘Ok,’ Simon says nodding, then lurching out of the chair. ‘Ok. I just have to go out for a while.’

‘No!’ he yelps, grabbing for his boyfriend. His heart’s racing. He feels too hot. Too cold. Sick. Why is Simon leaving? Why? What did he do wrong? ‘No. No! Why are you leaving? Are you angry with me? I’m sorry! I am! I didn’t mean—they really didn’t! You were my first! I didn’t lie to you! You were my first! Why are you leaving?’

Simon leans down and kisses him, very gently, on the forehead. ‘I am not angry with you. I will come back, but there is something I have to do first. I love you, ok?’

‘No!’ he shakes his head, clinging to Simon’s arm, ‘No! Not ok! I don’t understand.’ Some part of his mind notes from very far away that he sounds like a child. 

‘Please let me go,’ Simon says, sounding tortured, ‘I promise that I will come back, I promise that I love you, but, please, Nathan, let me go now.’

He does, sudden, before the thought has fully processed. Simon doesn’t want him. Simon doesn’t want him touching him. Simon is probably disgusted with him. He can’t really blame the man, he tried to hide it but he knows he acted like a proper slag with Father Maher— not so much Richard, but definitely the Father. 

‘Please, take care of him,’ he distantly hears Simon saying.

Then Kelly’s reply of, ‘Seriously mate, you’ve gotta stay. You can’t just leave him like this.’

‘I have to,’ he hears Simon say, but he almost doesn’t care anymore. There are some more voices, the sound of his boyfriend’s footsteps fading away, then a silence. 

He breaks it. ‘I feel sick,’ he says, flinging himself off the chair and stumbling back inside the Community Centre. He reels his way to the toilets, bouncing off walls, not even caring. He feels like he’s gone blind, like he can’t see— but then he realises that it’s because he’s crying so hard the entire world has gone watery. He’s not sure how long he vomits for, it seems to go on forever, the pressure inside of him so great he doesn’t even hear her come in, kneel down beside him, or even feel it when she starts to stroke his hair. Eventually it stops. He lies slumped over the toilet, staring at nothing while Alisha of all people does her best to comfort him.

She gets him a blanket when he curls up in a ball on the bathroom floor, and later her and Nikki and Curtis and Kelly all drag him to his feet and help him up to his bed, where he curls up in another little ball, burying his face in the scent of Simon on the pillow. Simon who is not coming back. Simon who has left him. Simon who only loved him so much, after all. He tries not to say any of it out loud, but either he fails or Alisha now has Kelly’s old powers, because she sits beside him as he lies there, tears just falling out of his eyes, feeling too tired even to sob, and she tells him that Simon does love him, that his boyfriend will be back soon, that he isn’t going to die of a broken heart, resurrect, only to die of a broken heart again— ok, maybe the latter is what he’s thinking, not her saying, but the sentiment is there. 

He’s not sure what happens next. Every time he’s aware of the world she’s there, but so, sometimes are the others. They poke him to get him to drink something, poke him to try and make him eat even though he won’t, drag him to his feet and off to the toilets, try to convince him to shower but he doesn’t care. The rest of the time is just misery and the bed he’ll never share with Simon again. 

Then, who knows how many days later, more than one, surely more than one, Simon returns. 

He doesn’t even notice it at first, either asleep or too far into his misery for anything to register, but eventually the murmur of ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,’ must drive its way through, because he opens his eyes and there Simon is, kneeling beside the bed, holding onto one of his hands. His fingers flex, reflexively, suddenly aware of the other man’s warmth. He blinks. Blinks again. Simon is covered in blood— ‘Barry? He asks, sitting up— well, trying to, but he feels shockingly weak so mainly just lurches on the bed, ‘What happened, are you hurt?’

‘I shouldn’t have just stormed off like that,’ is what Simon replies. ‘I was being selfish. An arsehole. I didn’t mean to do this to you!’

‘What do you mean?’ he asks, confused. What’s going on? Where’s Alisha? 

‘I said I’d come back, I told you I loved you, but I obviously didn’t convince you, did I? And instead of hanging around until I knew you were ok I just went off and —’

‘What? What did you do?’ he asks. Ok, he is so confused right now. Simon is back. He didn’t think Simon was ever going to—

‘I tracked him down,’ the other man replies, voice intense, a dark look in his pale eyes, ‘ _Richard—_ ’ the name is hissed, ‘I tracked him down. I made sure it was him— I turned invisible and broke into his house, looked through all his things— his computer was full of it, you know. Child porn. He had picture of you—’

He flinches. That version of him is not something he ever wanted Simon to see. He knows what he must have looked like, scared, crying, helpless. Pathetic. 

‘—I destroyed them!’ Simon hastens to add. ‘I destroyed all the pictures he had of you, but the rest of it—’ he sees his boyfriend’s throat bob, ‘— I waited until he came home and then I ambushed him—’

‘What did you do Barry?’ he asks. No way. Could Simon really have—

‘I cut his cock off,’ Simon replies, simply, ‘And his balls. I didn’t want to kill him. That seems too easy. I want him to _suffer._ So I did it carefully, so he wouldn’t bleed out, and then I carved the word _paedophile_ into his forehead and rang the police. I made sure his computer was unlocked, even loaded some of it up so it looked like he’d been watching it—’

He flings himself at his boyfriend, wrapping his whole body around Simon and blithering something about ‘so you’re not angry with me then?’

‘ _Angry with you?_ ’ Simon bleats. ‘No. No. _Never!_ None of it was your fault! None of it! How could I ever be angry with you for what those bastards did?’

He kind of ends up crying all over his boyfriend then. There’s no point pretending otherwise. 

All things considered he does actually give him a slap for scaring him, later, after they’ve had a shower together and curled up in bed. It’s not much of a slap, but he feels he has to do something for the sake of his dignity. Simon takes it well, with the look of a man who knows entirely too well that he deserves what’s happening to him. ‘Do that again and it’s _your_ balls that will end up cut off,’ he warns his boyfriend, not actually meaning a second of it. What he actually wants to do is blither something along the lines of “Don’t ever leave me again,” but the words won’t come out right.

He spends most of the day dodging calls from both his parents, having to turn his bloody phone off by lunchtime. He can’t cope with it. Talking to them. Simon tells him we went around to both their houses before it was his _dad_ of all people who told the other man Richard’s last name. How did his dad remember the prick’s name? And now with what Simon did— He hopes like fuck they’re not putting two and two together and getting anything in the _region_ of four.

‘That is _dead_ romantic,’ is what Kelly says that night, back up on the roof, all of them standing around looking at the story in the papers. _Paedophile’s Prick Purloined_ is what the headline says, which might be a bit much, but it is the papers. The whole thing is laid out— well, not the whole thing, there’s no mention of Simon or any “invisible assailant”— just that Richard Cunningham (58) was found in his house, having been fully castrated, after an anonymous caller rang 999. Also in the house was a computer filled with child abuse material, several boxes of photos of child abuse material, and several DVDs and old videos of child abuse material. The current speculation is that a former victim got revenge— an idea that is titillating most of the press. ‘I’ve never had a boyfriend that would do that for me.’ She takes a sip of her beer, before glancing at Simon, ‘I would give you a kicking for being such a prick, but seriously, that is dead romantic.’

They all migrate off to their chairs once the story’s been read a couple of times, and a few facts checked with Simon. He’s feeling odd. Buzzy and fluttery and not-quite there, so about all he can stand to do is lounge in their recliner and press his blushing face to Simon’s front and pretend he’s somewhere else. It’s a big thing when a guy castrates another guy that sexually abused you. Like, he knows Simon has killed people for him in the past, but this almost feels like something beyond that. Like, Simon _believes_ him, and that thought is what’s doing weird things to him.

After a while of drinking and smoking Kelly speaks again. ‘Like a few years ago I had this boyfriend, Sven, and one time him and his brother and me and some mates all got dead drunk at our place— like, he was a serious boyfriend, you know? We were living together and everything. So I’m passed out and when I wake up his cunt of a brother has got a finger up me twat, just like that, out of nowhere he’s fingering me—’ he feels Simon start to tense up beneath him. 

‘What did you do?’ Alisha asks.

‘Well I twatted him one, didn’t I?’ Kelly replies. ‘Broke his nose and everything. Then he goes crying to Sven and who do you think that prick believes? His brother, that’s who. I’ve just had that twat’s finger up me when I didn’t want it and my boyfriend’s calling me a slag and to pack my things and get out.’

‘Did you twat him one too?’ Nikki asks, ‘Because I would have.’

‘Course I did,’ Kelly replies, sounding self-satisfied.

‘I’m not sure I would have,’ Alisha says after a long while. ‘You just kind of get used to it, don’t you? Or at least I had, until my stupid power.’

‘I think it’s because of me mum,’ Kelly says after a moment’s thought. 

‘What do you mean?’ Alisha asks. 

‘Well, when I was twelve this guy from the estate grabbed me. He squeezed my tits and stuck his hand down my knickers and all,’ he joins the collective hiss at that. She continues on, ‘I got away from him and went and told mum immediately, and then she went out and found him and kicked his head in. Like, she knocked half his teeth out and cracked his skull. I had to stay with me Nan until she got out of prison— but I think that was good, you know, her _believing_ me when I told her. Made me feel like I had a right to tell people to fuck off and not to touch me if I didn’t want it.’

‘I wish I’d had your confidence,’ Alisha says, after a long moment. ‘I mean, the first time someone— you know.’

‘What do you mean?’ he hears Curtis say, voice suddenly highly alarmed.

‘Don’t act like it’s a surprise,’ she tells him, almost laughing, except it doesn’t sound like she thinks it’s funny. 

‘Was this before you got that shitty power?’ Nikki asks, her attempt at cool not quite hiding her concern.

‘Yeah,’ Alisha says, and there’s that tone to her voice, that brittle one like someone who’s going to cry but doesn’t want to. ‘I was eleven, I think. It was the dad of a friend of mine. He pinned me against the sofa at her place when I was staying over— he just humped my leg, you know, but I was so freaked out. I told her—’ she laughs, sounding a little broken, and a moment later he hears her sniff, ‘—and she told her _mum,_ who came in and gave me the hardest slap I think I’ve ever had in my life. She called me a slut and a tease and accused me of seducing him, and the more I tried to say I hadn’t, the nastier she got. She slapped me a few more times too— and then she said if I ever told anyone she’d tell everyone I knew what a nasty little slut I was and threw me out of her house. She even rang my parents, told them I’d been bullying Saph— that was my friend— and that I wasn’t allowed over there anymore. They were so angry with me, my parents, they didn’t even ask to hear my side of the story—’

‘Jesus, ‘Lisha,’ he hears Curtis say, low and rough.

‘I couldn’t tell them,’ Alisha says after a moment. ‘I felt so embarrassed, ashamed, and then Saph stopped being my friend and started spreading rumours about me, and sometimes, if I was out, it’d feel like someone was watching me, and I’d turn around and there was her mum, following me in her car— it drove me mental, for a bit.’

‘What happened?’ Kelly asks, sounding like she’s about to go twat someone right now.

‘Oh,’ Alisha’s laugh this time is a little more authentic sounding, ‘Saph’s dad ran off with a fifteen-year-old girl and everyone found out, so it was her they started gossiping about. They left, not long after that, her and her mum. Moved to Denmark from what I heard.’

‘Why the fuck would anyone want to move to Denmark?’ Kelly asks. ‘What even’s in Denmark?’

There is a pause, and then Nikki says ‘Don’t look at _me_. Nothing like that happened when I was a kid, the guys waited until I’d properly hit puberty to start getting creepy.’

Curtis makes a little bleat of a noise, to which she replies, ‘Don’t worry pet, it was never anything serious. Just trying to get me drunk, or trying to touch when I didn’t want them to if I was, or trying to stick parts of themselves in me if I ever passed out. It never got that far, the worst that happened was I’d wake up before whoever it was managed to get it in, or they’d be another premature ejaculator and I’d end up covered in cum I didn’t want to be covered in.’ 

He knows that feeling. The memory of coming round on the floor of a mate’s house, someone on top of him, feeling pressure up _there,_ something pressing on his arsehole, before the guy on top of him had made this wavering grunt and his arsecrack had been wet with spunk. That’s the closest anyone ever got before Simon— not that he thinks he can bear to tell the other man. It wasn’t like he was a kid that time— it was a couple of weeks before he got done for the thing with the pick-n-mix, and he should have known not to get fucked up around Callum like that— 

‘This,’ Curtis says after a long moment. ‘This is a fucked-up world we live in.’

‘So you don’t have any stories like that yourself?’ Nikki asks, curious.

‘Nah, man,’ Curtis replies— and then hesitates. ‘Well. There was this one coach, when I was a kid, but he only ever went after the _white_ boys—’ there’s that tone there, and he thinks he knows that tone, the tone of someone who’d been jealous of the attention someone else had been getting at the time and is disgusted with themselves now they’re older. 

He feels more than hears Simon make a grumbling noise beneath him, and then those strong arms are wrapping tighter around him and the other man is pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. ‘What are you thinking about?’ he asks, nuzzling into the embrace.

A pause, and then Simon replies, ‘What I’ll do if someone does something like that to you again.’

This sets off another round of that tingling, fluttery feeling, so he just presses closer as he hears Kelly say, ‘See, dead romantic,’ and then, ‘What about you Simon? Anyone molest you when you were a kid? Since we’re sharing stories and all.’

‘No, actually,’ his boyfriend says in a tone he thinks means Simon’s telling the truth. ‘I must be one of the lucky ones.’


End file.
